We woke up and hit the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet at the diner next to the hotel. We ate scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, biscuits, gravy, grapes, watermelon, grapes, pineapple, cantaloupe, and grapes. Then we went and checked out the Route 66 Museum and scrutinized souvenirs in the gift shop. Then we looked at Indian jewelry for a while, and we also had root beer floats at Mr. D’z dinner. That was cool. Mr. D’z is a historic roadside diner with old photos on the walls and a blonde waitress who was definitely giving me ‘the vibe’; I don’t care what anyone else says. Then we had swim in the hotel pool.
After that, Joe went back to our room to watch the world cup while Warren and I went for a long walk through town. It was Sunday so nothing was open. Warren got some good photos though. Eventually we were both thirsty, so we went into a bar and had a couple of beers and some nachos. Why do we humans order nachos? They’re fucking disgusting and you never feel good afterwards.
After that we walked…you should actually stop reading now because nothing happens on Sunday in Kingman, Arizona. I don’t know that much ever happens here. After that we walked back to the hotel where Joe was ripped and pretending to be a cholo. Oh! Here’s something that happened: I bought a neti pot to clear my sinuses. I’ve got a sinus infection. There was also an exciting moment where Warren accused me of having a staph infection on my elbow. We quickly diagnosed it as nothing more than an incongruous pimple next to a scab.
When the sun went down we had a bite to eat at the same diner we had breakfast in, then went to a bar called the Sportsman and put about $30 through the jukebox and drank whiskey. There were maybe 6 people in the sportsman at any given time, and one of those people was a dog who ordered a glass of milk. Really. The bartender, Dave, was rad, and he hooked us up with shots and introduced us to the locals. Warren met the local pool shark, Randy, who force him to learn all his sub-par pool tricks. Warren couldn’t break away from him; it was hilarious. I met an old bird named Susan, and she kicked my ass around the pool table. She also gave me a bit of a vibe about my accent. A few of the ladies here have commented on it: ‘I could listen to you talk all day,’ and ‘can you do my voicemail message?’ and ‘Oh, I love your accent. Can I sit on your face?’ The ladies in Kingman are definitely feeling the kid.
Man, I have to say it’s getting weird here. It’s bound to get weird when three dudes live together in a hotel room in the middle of the desert, but the really weird thing is how the locals keep saying things like, ‘Oh you broke down in Kingman? That’s what happens, and sometimes you never leave.’ They keep saying weird shit like that; it’s getting a bit Twilight Zoney and I don’t like it. No one does. The car is in the shop for at least one more day. I have a feeling its been buried in the hills, though.
At about 1am we said goodbye to all our new friends and staggered back to the hotel to smoke pot, watch Married With Children, and pass out.
Next up: doing over all the thrift and antique stores here in Kingman. There’s a bunch of ‘em, and I think we’ll find some cool stuff.